


Driving Home For Christmas

by TryingToScribble



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, James Bond has feels, M/M, also it's christmas, don't worry it's so cute, emotionally inept James Bond, what's an advent without christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27871318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TryingToScribble/pseuds/TryingToScribble
Summary: Coming home to an empty flat every time they clear out his things gets exhausting. Sometimes more than the actual missions. He’s getting too old to not look forward to the familiar. To not find comfort in someone waiting for him to return home. But he doesn’t have that. He can’t have that.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 21
Kudos: 161





	Driving Home For Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bookjunkiecat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/gifts).



> Well, it's the 4th here, and Savvy wanted 00Q sooooo I'm happy to provide!  
> [Driving Home For Christmas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OOQ8JBa_asY)

There is one last explosion and the mission wraps up neatly on Bond’s end, but from Six’s point of view he went MIA hours ago with a target hot on his back and seemingly no way out. Again. He looks around at the destruction of abandoned buildings housing yet another wannabe super secret organisation that Six are sure to find sooner rather than later, and then over at the Aston Martin with barely a scratch on it. That anything has survived his slightly rogue mission is a miracle, almost as if he’s being shown a sign. He sighs. He could still make the flight that Six has booked him on. If he catches it, Six will know that he’s alive and well and on his way back.

In all honesty, though, he isn’t really in any rush to correct the inevitable assumptions that MIA has become KIA.

No matter how many times he pulls off the impossible and drags himself back home, he always seems to find that they’ve given up on him again. The only family he’s ever known mourns him over and over without proof of his death. They stopped waiting. They stopped waiting for him even though he never stopped waiting for them. That’s what hurts the most, he thinks.

Coming home to an empty flat every time they clear out his things gets exhausting. Sometimes more than the actual missions. He’s getting too old to not look forward to the familiar. To not find comfort in someone waiting for him to return home. But he doesn’t have that. He can’t have that.

Bond slides into the Aston Martin with another sigh. He taps the steering wheel a few times before knocking it into gear and taking the long way home.

There are multiple moments on the way back that almost make him stop and reconsider just simply disappearing and finally never returning. He sees a sign advertising a long cruise that has him thinking back to the Navy and the simplicity of those days. He sees a motel or fifty that looks exactly like somewhere you would want to end up for a night of company and no expectations. The hardest thing to pass by, though, is seeing a couple kiss by the roadside, outside of a shop. At first, that was enough to have him thinking about the empty flat he was driving back to - and maybe he should visit Q branch with a present, came an odd thought - but he is reminded of the time of year when he notices the sprig of holly they are standing under. It isn’t even mistletoe, he thinks scornfully.

At each point he slows, watches, and then continues because, really, where else is he going to go?

He’ll just take his time in getting there.

***

About a week later, much sooner than he wishes, Bond is walking with hesitant steps towards his flat. As much as he doesn’t want to be here, he’d rather wallow in self pity alone for a while before resurfacing at Six.

He knows as soon as he steps up to his front door that there’s something different. Yet another sigh escapes him when he chalks it up to Six emptying his place out a lot quicker than he expected them to. Well, even if they’ve cleaned him out again, he knows they won’t have found his hidden scotch.

Bond takes a deep breath to steel himself for the cold, grey, dungeon he is about to let himself into. He swallows against the growing thickness in his throat as he usually does and finally pushes the door open, but almost chokes on it when he sees inside.

There are fairy lights strewn up along the bannister that leads further into the flat. He didn’t leave fairy lights up when he left. He’s never had fairy lights up. He doesn’t even think he owns fairy lights.

Although he knows with complete certainty that this is his flat, he still leans back to check the number on the door and take a quick glance down the corridor.

Yes. This is definitely his flat.

He reaches for the gun in his shoulder holster and steps inside silently, closing the door behind him so he can’t be ambushed from the back. As he makes his way quietly through to the living room, following the glow of the brightest light, something niggles at the back of his mind. Usually his whole body would have shut itself down to drop into his agent mode at the first concern for safety, but his body is either too exhausted (not likely, he can always drop into agent mode) or he really isn’t sensing the danger in his home being overtaken.

How strange.

Perhaps someone from MI6 is playing a prank on him. He would think it to be M if she were still here. Yet another memory that pains him, now. Rather, it could be another agent who knows that Bond isn’t dead under some rubble in the middle of nowhere. Someone who he really needs to put in their place because everyone knows not to mess with Bond on his home turf. Not even a friendly.

He holds back a growl when he hears someone else’s breathing. He really isn’t in the mood for games.

Rather than shout out and alert whichever idiot thinks that they’re funny, he decides to enter at a crouch and catch them off guard to teach them a lesson.

In quick succession, Bond falls to his haunches and spins around the door frame into the living room where he lifts his gun up with a sneer and… It is him that is caught off guard.

He immediately drops his finger from the trigger without lowering the weapon but he is in complete shock.

The whole room looks different. He doesn’t know how he didn’t realise before he entered that the room is bathed in a soft green light that flickers slowly to red and back, but now that he’s in the middle of the room he can see that the source of the light is a lovingly decorated Christmas tree in the corner. There’s also tinsel and other garlands looped around the mantle above the fireplace, and the fairy lights continue throughout.

It’s magical, but that isn’t what holds his attention.

He finally drops from the balls of his feet to his knees and the gun falls to his side as his hands do. The noise of the weapon hitting the carpet stirs the man lying asleep on Bond’s sofa.

“Q,” breathes Bond, a ragged gasp that brings the other man closer to waking.

The other man smiles and hums when the voice registers in his ears. “James,” he says softly and opens his eyes behind skewed glasses. “I knew you would come home.”

Q says it with such conviction that James thinks he’s going to cry.

“Why-” James finds himself only capable of one syllable at a time it seems, and can’t form any more of his question. Q understands anyway.

“It’s Christmas,” he says and shrugs. He pushes himself to sitting and then cocks his head at James. He comes to some sort of conclusion and then he too is on his knees in front of James but James leans away.

He can’t have that. He can never have what he wants. “Oh. Christmas.”

He swallows and Q is still watching him carefully.

“Not just Christmas,” Q admits slowly. “Christmas just gave me the excuse, and maybe a kick up the arse.” He smiles a lopsided smile that doesn’t hide his growing blush. “The cliche I was going to go with is that you don’t have to be alone on Christmas.”

James smiles at that. He has to. He finds himself doing that quite often. He cannot stay miserable or down when he’s in Q’s presence. He’s found it impossible, and so he doesn’t even try anymore.

Q takes a steadying breath before continuing. “What I really want to say, though, is that you don’t ever have to be alone.” He bites his lip and reaches slowly to place one hand over James’. “If you don’t want to.”

He can’t believe it. 

“Does everyone think I’m dead?” James asks and knows it probably doesn’t give Q an answer but he can’t help it. He needs to know.

“Yes.” Oh.

“But you waited for me?” He can’t help the way his breath catches and his eyes stare in wonder.

“Yes,” Q nods. He’s still smiling, gentle. His hand squeezes James’.

Someone waited for him. Someone is telling him that they will always wait for him.

“Will you stay?” He is truly at a loss. This is new to him. He’s spent his whole life being tossed from one place and person to the other and he doesn’t remember anyone particularly caring. He doesn’t know what to do with his feelings or even what he’s feeling but it feels good. Q waiting for him feels good. It feels like a weight has somehow gone from his chest.

“I’m here,” Q whispers and brings his other hand up to cup James’ cheek and brush a thumb under his eye. “I always want to be here.”

His eyes are tearing up but he doesn't care.

He can’t have this. He does have this.

He has Q.


End file.
